In the novel Demian by German author Hermann Hesse there’s a point in which the young Sinclair finds himself getting away from the lightness of his birth home and getting in touch with the darkness of the world. Later, peeling the layers of his perception off, he acknowledges that this is his own darkness in some way. Like most people, he’s not entirely good or bad, but this is not the point: the world as he perceived is not the same, because he has an inner shadow among the lights.

I have always been very fond of this story, mainly because I think I am truly similar to Sinclair. At some point in my life, I lost the certainty of the good. The belief that there would be a space for me in the world and everything would just fall in its place. I don’t have that. I work for the best and I hope for the best. I try to remain conscious and firm about the choices I make. I expect nice outcomes and pursue the path of righteousness. But, somehow, I feel fake. I walk among the good normal people without certainty, without conviction.

Many would say that this is what is like to be an adult. Maybe. But I really think that there is some of us who are just different. Who, despite the efforts -that are true and necessary-, have some darkness inside.

The hard part is the feeling that you don’t fit. You don’t belong to the world in which the rest lives. And trying to accomodate is even worse. It’s a violence against your very own nature. There’s a longing there, an indefinite sense of longing. And you can’t even share.

It’s odd, I rarely put myselft out there and I am doing that to a bunch of strangers. But I had the need to talk. Because, to most people I know, I am a concept. People want my view on what is interesting to them. Things they think I understand or have a valuable take on. They don’t want me to share what I feel, but the opinions I have. Even to a supremely rational person like me it’s exhausting. It’s very exhausting. And lonely.